


The Laws of Narrative

by batgirlSwrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x01 rewrite, Angelic Possession, Incest, M/M, Voyeurism, ageswap, kind of, mentioned underage, older!sam, younger!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 06:50:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batgirlSwrite/pseuds/batgirlSwrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ageswap AU, beginning of Season 9. Dean did the trials, and now his older brother has to deal with the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Laws of Narrative

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soullessbrothers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessbrothers/gifts).



> Two things: Anything before Season 9 (safe the ageswap involving things obviously) happened the same. And Sam is not a dumb fuck, hence figured out what happened in the Season 7 finale and spent a year trying to break Dean and Cas out of Purgatory instead of wasting it as well as an unforgivable amount of screentime with that abominably lazy plot device who must not be named. That is all.

_“What the fuck. This doesn’t make sense. Thousands of angels falling and news calls it a meteor shower.” Dean rolls his eyes, steering Baby along the dark road. She purrs under him, like she’s always done, ever since Dean got her for his eighteenth birthday. Sam had been away in Stanford back then. It hasn’t mattered in years though, she is still their home, always has been, always will be._

_“Yeah.” Sam says, his face stern._

_“You alright, man?” Dean asks with a frown._

_“Sure. I’m alright.”_

_“Then why aren’t you freakin out, man? We got a major crapfest on our hands. There’s basically an invasion of dicks with wings and I can’t think of any way to stop them all.”_

_Sam sighs, and the unease is practically pouring off him._

_“What?” Dean asks annoyed._

_“Angels aren’t our main problem right now, Dean.” Sam says, voice troubled._

_“What, you mean Metatron and Cas?”_

_“No, Dean.” Sam meets his eyes and something in Dean’s gut clenches. “I mean you.”_

_“What the hell?”_

_“Dean, something happened in the church back there.” Sam’s tone is way too gentle. “I don’t know exactly what, but it has something to do with the trials you ended. They did a number on your body.” The amount of unrestrained pain in Sam’s voice is like a punch in the stomach. “You’re dying, Dean.”_

_“Shut up.”_

* * *

 

_Watch out for Dean._

Sam tries to calm down, tries to breathe evenly. He has to, has to calm his thoughts, think logically, be reasonable about this.

_And most of all, watch out for your brother._

Sam’s head is a broken record, his father’s voice on repeat, in time with the agonizing beeping noise from the machine that keeps his little brother alive. For now.

_Here’s some money for food, if I’m not back in two weeks you know who to call, Sam. And make sure that Dean eats enough._

This is different from the time Dean was dying after the Impala was crushed, years ago, when Dad was alive and their only problem was Azazel.

_You want to quit, leave your little brother alone to go off and play school? You better know there’s no coming back!_

Sam never was the obedient son, leaving for Stanford as soon as Dean was old enough to take care of himself, not like Dean who only ever wanted to make peace, keeping their family together, and all of them happy.

_Dad’s gone on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days._

Sam was the one who did his homework even when it meant he didn’t get any sleep between studying and the odd jobs he had to pick up to keep them fed. Dean only ever did his homework because Sam made him, and stubborn in his own way, learned how to hustle pool at a much too young age.

_You and me, come whatever._

Sam never was the obedient son, but he is the older brother. There is one rule he’s never been able to ignore.

_Watch out for Dean._

Dean was always the one who kept their family together, doted on by both John and Sam. Cheeky, reckless, eager to please, eager to hunt, eager to do his share and more of their family’s work, allowed at it two years earlier than Sam had been. For every time Sam fought with John, Dean was determined to prove his obedience. For every time John left them alone, Dean had made sure to show Sam that they still had, always would have each other.

_Dean stop! Just let it go…_

His little brother is pale as the sheets of his hospital bed, his life hanging by a thread, probably more literally than Sam could like, if any of what he's read about the trial magic is true.

“I’m not gonna let you die.” He mumbles against the cool skin of Dean’s hand which he is clutching tightly in his.

He had meant to be the one doing the trials. Sam was, and still is convinced that the year in Purgatory successfully erased the last traces of Dean’s will to live a normal life. He knows his little brother better than himself, had seen it in Dean’s eyes back then. Sam had been too slow, and Dean had been too eager, gotten to the Hellhound first.

After a year of trying to find a way into Purgatory, Sam had to spend months watching his little brother cough blood, only to grin nonchalantly a second later. When the trials had required Dean to go back into the monster heaven, Sam had honestly feared for his return.

And now, with the remains of heaven crashing and burning, with Cas out of grace, lost somewhere across the states, with the King of Hell still gagged and bound in the Impala’s trunk, Sam Winchester is sitting at his brother’s deathbed, finding himself out of options.

He is unwilling to even leave Dean’s room, but he retreats to the window and after a minute of contemplation, sends out a prayer, carefully naming a parking lot within view of their hospital room as the meeting point. His eyes are drawn to Dean every time his concentration fades. Sam wards the room with permanent marker in places where the nurses hopefully won’t find the sigils immediately. Then he kisses Dean’s forehead, promises to be back soon, and closes the door behind him softly.

Ezekiel is the second angel to arrive, the calmest one of them, and the least wrathful. There is a constant expression of careful reserve on his face, more like a hurt, easily startled animal and less like the confused, maladapted and probably angry celestial being that Sam had expected. Like the one who threatens to rip Sam’s throat out in lieu of an introduction, making Ezekiel also the only one who hasn’t tried to gut Sam on sight.

He actually saves Sam’s hide, which is a definite point in his favour. Well, he collapses after, not overly reassuring, but beggars can’t be choosers. He passes the obligate interrogation in the ring of holy fire. If he is after Cas, he’s a pretty good liar, and most angels aren't, especially those new to their vessels. He’s also roughened up by the fall, but seeing as Cas answers neither prayers nor payphone, Sam isn’t left with very many choices.

Ezekiel is gentle when he touches Dean’s chest.

“So, are you able to cure him?” Sam asks.

“Yes, I should be… But he’s so weak.” Ezekiel frowns, eyes fixed on Sam’s comatose brother’s face.

Sam’s phone rings.

Cas knows Ezekiel, Sam can hear the gentle smile through the phone.

_“Yes. He’s a good soldier.”_

There is such a thing as a narrative law of the universe. Sam read about it somewhere. Sleeping Princesses are always kissed awake by a Prince, old houses at the end of the road always are haunted, and if the Winchesters catch a break, it always turns out that they really don’t.

* * *

 

_“It’s over, Sam. There’s nothing to fight for.”_

_“No, Dean. I know that you don’t believe that.”_

_“Really? Then what’s your plan, Sam?”_

_“My plan? My plan is to fight! My plan is to try! I'll figure something out, you know me, I always do! Just don't pretend there's nothing to hope for!"  
_

_“No, Sam. I’m telling you there is. I know you don’t like it, and you won’t accept it, but it’s there. Sam, I’m tired.”_

_“Dean, you know what this is!”_

_“It’s okay Sam.”_

_“It’s what I want.”_

* * *

 

The whole building is vibrating with the arrival of more angels, and Sam curses himself for not being more careful about giving away their location.

They have to move Dean.

If Dean is moved, he dies.

There are innocent people in the hospital.

Fire alarm first, and Sam is already cutting his arm while he runs.

* * *

_“Hello Dean. I’ve been waiting for you.”_

* * *

“What is happening?”

“His body is failing, as is my own strength, due to the warding, I fear.”

“Wait.” Sam tries to breathe face to face with an EKG that is rapidly approaching cardiac arrest. “Are you telling me you’re too weak?”

“I fear so.”

“There has to be another thing we can do. Some way, any way.”

“No good ones.” Ezekiel says resignated, and Sam understands.

“No.” Sam says. “He’d rather die than survive that way.” It’s the ultimate hypocrisy, because while he is speaking the truth, Sam is also very aware that he is more than ready to overrule his little brother’s inhibitions if it means saving his life. Dean would- Dean _will_ doubtlessly call him a selfish bastard for it, but Sam is far from ready to let Dean die, even over the probably worst case of PTSD in human history.

“I cannot do it without his consent. I can take you with me, and you can convince him…” the trickery Ezekiel suggests is tempting, very much so, but it ties Sam’s stomach into knots. Meg and Lucifer taught him better. “No deceiving.” He decides.

Ezekiel frowns, worrying his lip. “Will he agree otherwise, though? You cannot be sure of it.”

“Yes I can. I know I can convince him.” Maybe if Sam says the words firm enough, he will be able to believe them. “He won’t forgive me if I lie to him about this. We’re doing this, but we’re playing with open cards.”

Ezekiel places his hand on Sam’s forehead.

* * *

_Dean wonders how Death pulls of this bemused-exasperated-resignated amusement thing so flawlessly permanent. If he’d ever had a chance to grow old, it’s exactly the attitude he’d have tried to display as well._

_“Hey Death. Sir.” He smiles lazily and leans back in the fluffy armchair. Considering the last thing he remembers is not-redeeming Crowley, and the fact that he’s sitting in Bobby’s living room, which sadly does not exist anymore in the real world, he figures he is on the brink of, well, death. Capital D, though. Death. Huh._

_“Quite right, my boy.” Death comments and Dean grins. “My boy? Seriously?”_

_If he weren’t about to die, he’d make it one of his life goals to learn how to raise an eyebrow the way Death does now. “Indeed. I must admit, when I heard it was you, well I had to come myself.”_

_“That’s quite an honour. Thanks.” Dean smiles faintly. Sam is gonna be mad… “Can I ask you a favour?”_

_Seriously, this eyebrow game is a whole other level. “That depends. What would that favour be?”_

_“If I go with you, can you promise that this time, it’s final? That I stay dead, no matter what… anybody tries to bring me back. No deals, no spells, nothing, no one can get involved or hurt anymore?”_

_Death, surprised. A sight to behold at any other opportunity, but this is urgent._

_“I can promise that.”_

_Dean leans back and smiles, relieved and free for the first time in, well, years. Not that time seems to count for much here._

_“It’s time, Dean.” Death says and gets up. “Shall we?”_

_Dean rises, his (imaginary) limbs light, a perk in his step that he hasn't known he’s missed._

_“Hold on.”_

_“Sam!”_

_There’s his big brother, and a bit behind him, someone else. Tall, earnest, with a skeleton whisper of shadowy wings behind him._

_“It’s okay, Dean.” Sam looks at Death, apologetic but hasty. “I’m sorry, may I talk to my brother, please?”_

_“What are you doing, Sam?” Dean frowns._

_“I’ve got a plan.” Sam takes a step towards him, and this is some mindfuck dreamworld, he shouldn’t be able to fix Dean with his eyes so intensely, right?_

_“Why are you even here? We’ve been around this block so many times, I’m tired of it.”_

_“You have to fight this, Dean!” Sam rarely ever shouts. Even rarer when he’s more than just a projection of Dean’s mind. Sam only ever shouts when Dean’s in danger. Which is ridiculous, because Dean made up his mind._

_“We can fix this, Dean. Together. Please.” Sam never begged when they were kids. Sam was steady and reasonable and intelligent beyond his age, and he always protected Dean. He was there for nightmares, he taught Dean how to read and to shoot and to stitch up a wound. He went against bullies and difficult teachers and social workers for Dean, always calm, always outsmarting everyone else and never, ever having to plea for anything._

_“It’s not his time.” Sam is one word short of falling to his knees in front of Death._

_“That’s for Dean to decide.”_

_“Dean, listen to me. I made you a promise in that church. You and me, come whatever. If this isn’t whatever, I don’t know what is. You have to let me help you, Dean, please. You have to let us help.”_

_Dean is breathing heavily- he probably doesn’t need to, but it helps him think and he doesn’t know how not to- “Us?”_

_Sam’s eyes flicker to the man- the angel who steps next to him. “Your body is breaking down. I can help you, but it has to be from the inside.”_

_“You’re joking.”_

_The pure desperation in Sam’s eyes makes Dean’s throat tighten, his heart constrict. “Sam, no. Of all the things to ask.”_

_“There is no me if there is no you!” Sam throws the word at him, he’s shaking, he shouldn’t be shaking. Sam is strong, his Sam, his brother, and all Dean wants to do is touch him, hold him, tell him it’s gonna be alright._

_He looks at Death. Death looks back, forehead in wise, dignified wrinkles, and Dean reads the eternal acceptance in those eyes. What’s time for the one who’ll reap God, anyways?_

_“Dean?” Sam’s voice is almost, almost breaking._

_Dean turns and glares at the angel. “I can throw you out anytime.”_

_“Is that a yes?”_

_“If you mess with my head I’m gonna find a way to kill you.”_

_“Dean, are you saying yes?”_

* * *

There is a narrative law of the universe. When it’s dark and the torchlight begins to flicker, you’re in trouble. When a Prince fights a dragon, he cannot fail. When Sam needs Dean, or Dean needs Sam, no matter when, where, how, why, they always come for each other.

* * *

“You know this is probably the worst idea you ever had, right?” Kevin says.

“We didn’t have a choice.” Sam replies through clenched teeth. Kevin looks at him and nods, and Sam is so very grateful for their prophet.

“Go take care of him. I’m gonna continue translating the rocks.” Kevin shoots the two tablets laid out on the table a weary glance.

"Cas is on his way. Maybe he can help.” Sam suggests, suppressing the twinge of worry at the idea of their angel alone, graceless, with bloodthirsty siblings on the lookout for him.

But he can’t let Dean outside, not while he can’t even breathe without Ezekiel inside him.

“I doubt that.” Kevin shrugs. “Go. You’re getting twitchy again.”

Sam looks at their prophet indignantly, but Kevin only returns a blank stare. Two years ago, he’d have been intimidated. Now the kid’s just done with all the bullshit.

“Dinner at six.” Sam mutters and then leaves for Dean’s room.

Dean is blinking awake when Sam enters. He’s sleeping sixteen hours a day so Ezekiel can concentrate all his energy on healing him.

“Sammy?” Dean mumbles, still a little groggy. He only uses that nickname when he’s out of it, because those are the only times Sam will tolerate it. He’s the big brother after all, and he never had the patience for nicknames.

“Hey Dean.” Sam knows his voice is softer than it should be, but he can’t help it. Dean is still very obviously not okay, paler, weaker, eyes slightly glassed over. He smiles, though, when Sam kneels next to him. “How about a shower and some food at the table? It’s been almost two days since you left your bed.”

“Alright.” Dean gets up way too quickly for Sam’s taste and bats his brother’s hands away when Sam tries to support him. “Dude, I can do it on my own!”

Sam has a painful flashback to bath nights when they were young. As far back as he can remember, Dean had always insisted on doing everything by himself, desperate not to burden Dad or Sam. It had started when he was a toddler and never let up.

“Just be careful.” Sam says and does his best not to hover too obviously.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Zeke’s got this, don’t worry. I can move.” He rolls his shoulders and gets up. “By the way, we should probably get some books so he can read. The both of us are getting pretty bored.”

“You’re talking?” Sam asks surprised.

“Well duh, Sam. He’s in my head, what are we supposed to do?” Dean shoots him a look. He walks into the bathroom barefooted, and Sam bites his tongue in order to not worry out loud about the cold floor.

“Sam, I’m not gonna collapse in the shower.” Dean says when Sam doesn’t make a move to leave the bathroom.

“You almost died.” Sam gives back tensely.

Dean just rolls his eyes and takes off the shirt and boxers he’d been sleeping in- nothing Sam hasn’t seen before. Dean Winchester does not do body shame.

Sam swallows and takes a deep breath, controlling his libido with a healthy dose of guilt. Dean may look fine safe for how he’s a bit paler, a bit thinner than before, but Sam knows he isn’t. His little brother has outlived the Doctor’s prognosis from three days ago only because of the angel inside him. The angel inside him who is talking to Dean, in Dean’s head, watching everything.

“Sam, I’m fine. Believe me.” Dean says and steps into the shower. And doesn’t pull the curtain closed behind him. Instead he turns on the steaming hot water and lets it run down his body, drops and clear streams rolling over his skin that quickly grows pink under the warmth. Dean never tanned as easily as Sam, but instead his body is dusted with freckles, faint and delicately spread over the muscles won by years of hard training and hunting. Sam knows he shouldn’t, but the path of scars over his little brother’s body is too familiar, his eyes following the rugged lines, holes and healed gashes on their own. Some of Dean’s scars are old, almost faded white, some are dull pink, and the newest ones are still reddish, becoming more obvious under the warm water.

Sam knows each and every one of the scars, knows the story behind them, how deep they go and what they feel and taste like.

Dean huffs a breath of laughter, and when Sam meets his eyes, he knows he's doing this on purpose.

Sam frowns in annoyance. “Dean.”

“Like I said.” Dean groans softly, leaning his head back into the stream of water, and runs his hands down his body. “I’m _fine_.”

“Dean.” Sam warns again, lowly, and his brother, being the little shit that he is, actually smirks. “Sam?”

Sam takes all willpower he has left and tears his eyes away, but then Dean’s voice drops an octave. “Sammy?”

“You have an angel in your head.” Sam growls, working his jaw to try and soothe the ball of dark feelings settling in the pit of his stomach. Masturbating has been low on Sam’s list of priorities lately, and now he gets the bill.

“So what? Zeke knew what he was singing up for.” Dean tilts his head and then actually chuckles. “Don’t think it bothers him overmuch, actually.”

“ _What?_ ” Sam stares at Dean. His little brother grabs his already half-erect cock and grins, watching Sam under lowered lids. “C’mon Sam, can’t tell me some voyeurism don’t turn you on.”

“Dean.” It’s the only prayer left now that has any kind of meaning to Sam.

“Please, Sam. Need you.”

“Fuck!” Two buttons go flying and Sam almost falls over the tangled mess of jeans and boxers and socks before he manages to kick it away, and nothing matters as soon as he’s pressing Dean against the tiles, their mouths crashing together. Dean shivers against the coolness of the smooth ceramics in his back and Sam rubs up against him, trying to touch as much of him as possible, reclaiming every inch of skin.

“Sam!” Dean jerks his hips and Sam takes the request for what it is, picking Dean up and pinning him against the wall, the hot water pouring down over both of them with Dean's legs slung around his hips. Dean really seems to weigh less than before, lifting him last was that easy when he was a teenager. Somewhat ironic, considering he’s housing an angel, but Sam is done wasting thoughts on that. They’re both impatient, rutting against each other, the perfect mix of wetness and friction between them.

Dean’s kissing is becoming more frantic, adding small bites along Sam’s lips. Sam’s fingers are digging into Dean’s ass, thumbs on his hipbones, and in return Dean is clawing along Sam’s shoulders, both of them intent on leaving marks on each other. Sam’s cock twitches and he speeds up the rhythm, and Dean arches his back, presses nearer, there is no such thing as too close for them.

Sam comes first, with an animalistic sound that is half yell and half groan, and Dean follows him a moment later, whimpering softly. After years, after everything that happened to and between them, that sound still turns Sam’s whole world, throws him back to that first, forbidden time when neither of them had understood how this could be wrong. It wasn’t, it wasn’t wrong then, it isn’t now.

Sam rests his forehead against Dean’s, their heavy breaths mixing while the water washes their come down the drain.

That night, someone comes into Sam’s bedroom. It looks like Dean, but Sam needs one glance to know it isn’t his little brother.

“Ezekiel?”

“He is asleep.” The angel hesitates. “Could- may I rest beside you?”

Sam frowns for a moment. _Oh well, weirder things have happened._ He gestures towards the empty space in his bed and D- Ezekiel stiffly lays down next to him.

Sam only hesitates for a moment, but then he chuckles and draws the familiar body near. They fit instinctively, even if that look of startled surprise wasn’t made for Dean’s face.

“I’m gonna sleep now.” Sam mumbles. “And by the way. Thanks.”

The angel relaxes against him then, and for now, that’s good enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Gadreel's POV is in the works.
> 
> Oh, and if any of you recognize the concept of the Narrative Law of the Universe (Multiverse;) and its origin, you get a free prompt. Just message me on tumblr, same url :)


End file.
